I don’t know where I am / And I don’t know where I’m going / I reckon it don’t matter anyway / What factories are left here are mainly hiring Mexicans / I reckon that they’ll work without much pay. Years ago, it had been the site of a filling station. Then it was …
Tag: writing
I Don’t Want To Bug You … But I Must
I think of “Bones” on Star Trek: “I’m a doctor, Jim, not a tour guide.” The age requires versatility, and I am sadly lacking, in general, but also where my books are concerned. Put me in front of an audience, and I am fine. I’m perfectly confident in my ability to talk about my novels, …
A Friendly Background
No afternoon baseball today. I pay to get all the games on TV, mainly because I love the Boston Red Sox and live in South Carolina, but I often use other teams’ games as a soothing background for writing, reading, playing guitar and sketching. I look up when I hear yelling, and then I watch …
Scuppernongs and Muscadines, Part Four (Final)
Now that I am old myself / It doesn’t seem so bad / Because sometimes simple rhymes / Are the only ones we have / I wouldn’t have name him Frank / But I never had a son / I sold my soul in different roles / Not to be outdone. One morning, five …
Continue reading Scuppernongs and Muscadines, Part Four (Final)
It’s Only Fiction (A Song)
Here are the lyrics to my latest song. I wrote most of it a couple months ago, but I wasn't particularly pleased with it until this morning, when I finally got around to dickering with the words again. My daddy was a drunkard but I didn’t write about him in my song I claimed …
The Paved Road
The first thing that I saw / When I woke up this morning / Was bad news on the TV I left on the night before / It’s the same old, sad story / Somebody shot somebody / Most of the time the victim / Was a junkie or a whore. The Weather Channel …
The Paved Road, Part Three (Final)
Well, the woman that I loved / Didn’t quite return the favor / And the woman that loved me / Left me tinged with regret / As I ruminate about the state of my sad depression / My life seems no more worthy than an empty silhouette. Bundled up in the house was a …
An Ode to Wallace Stegner, 1909-93
First must I admit I’m writing this blog principally because I wanted to accompany the sketch of Wallace Stegner I drew last night while passively watching the Boston Red Sox get pummeled by the Seattle Mariners again. My pride in this sketch enabled me to get through my almost nightly disappointment in the Red Sox. …
The Paved Road, Part Two
Eddie Sylva sat in what was mostly darkness, illuminated only by a candle next to his inoperable lamp. Similarly unavailable were the refrigerator, washer, dryer, television, phone (he hadn’t been able to find, or uncover in the darkened closet, the old one), uh, stereo, laptop, printer, clock, toaster, and undoubtedly various other electric devices of …
The Paved Road, Part One
The first thing that I saw / When I woke up this morning / Was bad news on the TV I left on the night before / It’s the same old, sad story / Somebody shot somebody / Most of the time the victim / Was a junkie or a whore. The Weather …
Nightrider's Lament 